“And I am to wear it?” queried the maiden in awed tones. “Oh, mother, ’tis too much to ask of thee.”
“Thee deserves it, my daughter. I would far rather that thou shouldst have the good of it than it should lie here to rot. Let me see!” Diving down into the chest with a gaiety she did not often exhibit, she brought up some little shoes, silken to match the gown. “Ah! I thought these should be here. And here is a fan with sticks of sandal wood. And a piece of fine lawn that will make thee an apron. Come! we shall do nicely. ’Tis a veritable treasure chest we have come upon. We will not explore it further now. There may come another time of need. Take thou the shoon, Peggy, and the fan. I will carry the gown. We will begin work at once. I was slender when the frock was worn, but thou art a full inch smaller about the waist. ’Twill be easily fixed.”
With reverent hands Peggy took the shoes and fan, and followed her mother down to the living-room.
As Sally had said, Peggy was indeed thankful for the hours of training in fine sewing and embroidery. When finally the day came for the trying on, and the desired frock fulfilled her highest expectation, her ecstasy was unable to contain itself.
“Thee is the best mother that ever lived,” she cried catching Mrs. Owen about the waist and giving her a girlish hug. “What would I do without thee? Oh, mother! what if thee had had no wedding gown? What would we have done?”
Mrs. Owen laughed, well pleased at her enthusiasm.
“We will not consider that part of it, Peggy,” she said. “We have it in truth, and it does indeed look well. A new frock would have looked no better. Ah! here is Sally. Let her give her opinion.”
“Thee comes just in time, Sally,” cried Peggy as Sally Evans was shown into the room. “How does thee like my new frock?”
“’Tis much prettier than mine,” declared Sally eying the gown critically. “And vastly distinctive. Where did thee get the material, Peggy? I never saw quite the shade.”
“Then thee thinks it citified and à la mode?” queried Peggy, ignoring the question.